eans
would be used to prevent me. My friend Collins, therefore, undertook to
manage a little for me. He agreed with the captain of a New York sloop
for my passage, under the notion of my being a young acquaintance of
his, that had got into trouble, and therefore could not appear or come
away publicly. So I sold some of my books to raise a little money, was
taken on board privately, and as we had a fair wind, in three days I
found myself in New York, near 300 miles from home, a boy of but 17,
without the least recommendation to, or knowledge of any person in the
place, and with very little money in my pocket.

My inclinations for the sea were by this time worn out, or I might now
have gratified them. But, having a trade, and supposing myself a pretty
good workman, I offered my service to the printer in the place, old Mr.
William Bradford, who had been the first printer in Pennsylvania, but
removed from thence upon the quarrel of George Keith. He could give me
no employment, having little to do, and help enough already; but says
he, "My son at Philadelphia has lately lost his principal hand, Aquila
Rose, by death; if you go thither, I believe he may employ you."
Philadelphia was a hundred miles further; I set out, however, in a boat
for Amboy, leaving my chest and things to follow me round by sea.

In crossing the bay, we met with a squall that tore our rotten sails to
pieces, prevented our getting into the Kill, and drove us upon Long
Island. On our way, a drunken Dutchman, who was a passenger too, fell
overboard; when he was sinking, I reached through the water to his shock
pate, and drew him up, so that we got him in again. His ducking sobered
him a little, and he went to sleep, taking first out of his pocket a
book, which he desired I would dry for him. It proved to be my old
favorite author, Bunyan's _Pilgrim's Progress_, in Dutch, finely printed
on good paper, with copper cuts, a dress better than I had ever seen it
wear in its own language. I have since found that it has been translated
into most of the languages of Europe, and suppose it has been more
generally read than any other book, except perhaps the Bible. Honest
John was the first that I know of who mixed narration and dialogue; a
method of writing very engaging to the reader, who in the most
interesting parts finds himself, as it were, brought into the company
and present at the discourse. De Foe in his _Crusoe_, his _Moll
Flanders_, _Religious Courtship_